


Order

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Apologies, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Canon Disabled Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom!Fernald, Face-Fucking, Facials, Headcanon: Henchperson is autistic, Henchperson is called Rory, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, Light restraint, Masturbation, Misogynist language used consensually in a BDSM context, Morally Ambiguous Character, Name-Calling, Nipple Play, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Paddling, Piercings, Praise Kink, Public Display of Affection, Rimming, Roleplay slutshaming, Sub!Rory, Teasing, Using sex to avoid dealing with trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-30 22:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Takes place after The Wide Window.Fernald snaps at Rory when they're at the Anxious Clown. Rory is sad. Fernald apologizes. Makeup sex ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super tired as I'm posting this, so if I've made any mistakes, feel free to point them out in the comments so I can fix them.

Olaf’s long, black sedan sped through the driving rain, away from Lake Lachrymose. The occupants of the vehicle were quiet. In the backseat, Rory stared out the window, but they weren’t really watching the rain. 

Fernald had yelled at them. Also they had just seen a woman thrown to the Lachrymose Leeches, which felt terrible in an abstract way, too big to comprehend right now. That would have been bad enough on its own. But that _plus_ Fernald yelling at them—that made them feel as if the entire world was unstable, crumbling, and they didn’t even know what they’d done wrong.

Rory wanted to curl up into a ball and hide, or at least to bring their knees up to their chest. That would feel safer, somehow, but there wasn’t room, not with Arturo and the twins in the backseat with them. They closed their eyes and surreptitiously ran their fingertips through the faux fur of their vest. That helped a little. Between the steady drumming of the rain and stroking the soft, fuzzy fur, they managed to turn off their brain enough to fall into a light slumber until they reached the city.

After they’d all arrived back at Olaf’s house and the troupe dispersed, Rory followed Fernald silently down the street to board the trolley. There were few other passengers in this weather, so the two had nearly the whole car to themselves. 

“You’ve been very quiet,” said Fernald.

Rory shrugged and drew their vest tighter around themselves. The fog and rain made the open trolley car chilly and damp. They wished they had a blanket, or at least a heavier sweater. 

“Are you all right?” Fernald persisted, resting a hook on their arm.

Rory pulled away from his touch. 

“Hey, what’s the matter?” asked Fernald in concern. “Talk to me.”

Rory looked down and wound the fringe of their scarf through their fingers. When they spoke, their voice was quiet. “You yelled at me.”

“What? When?”

“At the restaurant,” said Rory. 

“I never— _oh_ ,” said Fernald in realization. “That.” He reached out toward Rory again, but stopped. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t sound like an annoyed _sorry_. It sounded sincere. Rory unwound their scarf, then threaded it through the fingers of their other hand before they could bring themselves to look up at him. “Are you still mad at me?”

Fernald’s expression softened. “Is that what you thought all this time?”

They nodded. 

He reached out again, and this time rested his hook against Rory’s elbow. “Oh, honey, no. I was never mad. I was worried that waiter was going to try some trick by talking to you, but—I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you like that, especially when I know how it bothers you. I care about you and the last thing I want is to make you sad. Can you forgive me?”

Rory considered a moment, then nodded again. “Yes.” Fernald wasn’t mad at them. They hadn’t done anything wrong to make him upset, not really. Things were all right. 

Of course, there was still the matter of Josephine. When Rory remembered that, the world gave a sickening swoop, threatened to shake apart if they thought about it for too long—

They slipped an arm around Fernald’s waist and pulled him close. 

“Sure you’re okay?” he asked. 

Were they okay? Not by any means. They just wanted to stop thinking, or, better yet, stop _feeling_ all these terrible chaotic emotions that swirled around heavier than the stormclouds in the sky, leaving them feeling sliced open on the inside as if they’d swallowed broken glass, and worst of all, none of it was anything they could properly explain in words.

“Rory?”

Oh. Right. They’d been staring blankly into space, and Fernald was waiting for an answer, and—

“Can I do anything to make you feel better?” he asked. 

“Huh? Oh. Um…” They knew what would help push away these feelings and bring order to their mind, at least temporarily. Of course, if Fernald knew that was why, he wouldn’t go for it—he’d want to _talk_ instead, but Rory couldn’t manage that, not right now.

They inched closer to Fernald and murmured, “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to makeup sex.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” Fernald leaned in and rested his head against Rory’s shoulder. They thought it was merely a gesture of affection until he whispered, his breath hot against their neck, “What do you want me to do to you?”

The words and the sensation against their skin sent a shiver down their back. They closed their eyes and gave a sigh. “I want you to tell me what to do.”

“ _Do_ you?” asked Fernald, his voice like the purr of a particularly mischievous cat.

“Please?” Rory breathed. “Don’t be gentle. Hurt me.”

They were rewarded with a quick bite to the side of their neck, and they gasped. They hadn’t expected him to do anything in public, and if asked, they would have said the thought of it had never appealed to them, but suddenly, as it was actually happening, Rory found themselves incredibly turned on. 

“Shh,” cautioned Fernald with a smirk. “You wouldn’t want other people to hear, would you? What would they think?”

“Don’t care,” Rory said. Their skin was tingling all over, and they were hard already. “Need more.” Besides, the only other people in the trolley were the conductor and an elderly lady who sat all the way up front. 

“Well,” said Fernald, resting his hook on their knee, “if you can be good for me—if you can be _quiet_ —maybe I’ll let you have another kiss.”

“I can,” said Rory eagerly. “I’ll totally be quiet.”

“Because if they hear you,” said Fernald, leaning in close again, his voice dropping lower, “they’ll think—they’ll _know_ —how much of a filthy whore you are, so insatiable you can’t even wait until we get home.”

Rory choked back a whimper at the words. Fernald knew exactly what to say to put them in a state of desperate arousal. 

“I can’t,” they whispered. “I need it—need you.”

Fernald kissed their throat again. Rory bit their lower lip and squirmed in their seat, but kept silent. Fernald kissed higher, the tip of his tongue tracing the edge of their earlobe before he bit down. Rory closed their eyes and clutched at their scarf, and didn’t make a sound. 

“So obedient,” murmured Fernald. “Doing exactly as I say.” 

Rory’s pulse quickened, and they felt a warm glow at the praise. Already, they felt a sense of relief—everything made _sense_ now, all they felt was what Fernald permitted them to feel, they didn’t have to think, only to do as they were told. 

But why had Fernald stopped? Oh, he was nudging them to get up—they’d reached their stop. They stood, and the world felt pleasantly hazy, the hard edges smoothed out. Fernald’s hook rested gently at the small of their back, and Rory glided forward easily, letting Fernald direct them off the trolley, down the street, and up the stairs to their shared apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess we're doing this in really short increments because that's all the energy I can muster right now with how busy things have gotten IRL. Apologies for the long wait on this chapter.

Once inside, the two of them proceeded immediately to the bedroom. Fernald took his time, shrugging off his leather jacket, folding it, laying it across the back of a chair. 

Rory threw off their vest and scarf and began to unbutton their shirt.

“Did I give you permission to do that?” asked Fernald sharply.

Rory froze guiltily. “No.”

“No what?”

“No, sir,” they corrected themselves. A pleasant tingle of anticipation coursed through them.

“That’s better.” Fernald removed and set aside his prosthetics, then turned to survey Rory. “Undress me,” he ordered. 

“Yes, sir.” Rory carefully took off Fernald’s shirt, eyeing him hungrily. “May I? Please?”

“Yes.”

They kissed down Fernald’s chest, moving slowly lower until they took one pierced nipple into their mouth, running their tongue over the jewelry in the way that always made him gasp for breath. They took the other between two fingers and pinched, first lightly, then harder.

Fernald’s reactions turned them on even more—knowing that he was allowing them to please him like this. Rory loved the sounds he made, the taste of his skin—

Fernald touched them lightly on the chin, making them look up at him. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s something else you’re supposed to be doing right now.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Rory recollected themselves enough to remove his pants. Fernald stepped out of them and kicked off his shoes.

“Can I take off…everything?” asked Rory, fingers tracing along the waistband of Fernald’s boxers. 

“If you can convince me that you really want it,” he said. 

Rory kissed him on the shoulder, down his chest and stomach until they knelt before him, rubbing their face against his hard cock through the thin material of his boxers, lightly kissing the underside of his shaft. 

“Please, sir,” they breathed. “Please let me.” Rory wanted so badly for Fernald to touch them, or at least to allow them to touch themselves, even to remove the clothing that tormented them by making them far too aware of their own arousal. 

Fernald’s wrist came down to rest on Rory’s head, pushing them forward, their face against his thrusting dick. “Is this what you want?”

“God—yes—”

“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Please, may I?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna suck your dick…want to be a slut for you…oh my God, let me do _something_ …please, I want you so bad…I mean, please, _sir_.”

Fernald released Rory, and nodded his permission. “Go ahead.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rory pulled down Fernald’s boxers and took his hard cock into their mouth, the scent of his skin almost intoxicating. As they took him into their throat, they couldn’t help giving a moan at the feel of his cock against their tongue, the exhilaration that he was allowing them the luxury of it. 

“Fuck,” said Fernald roughly. “You know what you’re doing. I bet you’ve sucked more dicks than you can count, is that it? So desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Rory gave a whimper and took Fernald in deeper, trying to ignore the ache of their own cock, the desire coursing through their entire body. 

Both of Fernald’s wrists came to rest at the back of Rory’s head. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he growled, leaning down close to them. “I’m going to use you like the cheap whore you are.”

Then he was holding them in place, thrusting into their mouth. Despite his threatening words and aggressive tone, Fernald was being almost too gentle. He went slowly, sliding into their mouth with just enough force for them to know that he was using them to get himself off, giving them time to breathe between thrusts. Then, as Fernald’s breathing grew harsher, quicker, he increased his pace, thrusting more roughly into their mouth, pushing a little deeper, and it made their eyes water. God, they loved this, being treated as nothing more than an object to get him off—Rory wondered whether Fernald would notice if their hand slipped between their legs, just for a moment—they had to, it was all too much, Fernald’s cock in their mouth as he cradled their head in his arms, their own stifled cries, the unbearable pressure of their pants against their aching cock—

Rory reached down quickly, closing their eyes, managing to give themselves a few clumsy strokes through their pants before Fernald gave a cry. He pulled out of their mouth as he came, spilling across Rory’s face, leaving them a complete mess. 

As soon as he’d caught his breath, Fernald asked, “You like that, bitch?”

Rory nodded silently, licking Fernald’s semen from their lips. Kneeling here in front of him, covered in his come—God, if he didn’t touch them soon—

“What do you say?” demanded Fernald.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“That’s better.”

Fernald stood regarding them for a moment, coldly. “I suppose you want to come now, is that it?”

Rory nodded, their mouth dry. “Please, sir.”

“You greedy slut. You really thought I wouldn’t notice, didn’t you?” said Fernald dangerously.

Rory’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and Fernald smirked. “I saw you, touching yourself without my permission. And now I’m going to punish you for it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me so long. I've been having kind of a hard time lately. I hope this doesn't suck as much as my brain is trying to tell me it does.

“Yes, sir,” whispered Rory. 

“Ask me for it,” ordered Fernald. 

“Please, sir…punish me. Help me be good.” They trembled with anticipation, with _need_. Every word Fernald spoke, every sensation against their skin only turned them on even more, so much they could hardly stand it. 

“Why do you need to be punished?” prompted Fernald. 

“Because I should have waited for you…for permission.” Rory tried to keep still but failed, shifting on the floor and pressing their thighs together. 

“Stop that,” said Fernald sharply.

“Yes, sir,” said Rory automatically. 

“You’re being terribly naughty today,” said Fernald with a shake of the head. “I think you need to learn some patience. Take off your clothes.”

Rory undressed quickly. The silky material of their panties grazed the head of their cock as they slid them down, and they had to bite their lip to keep silent. 

Fernald stepped into the closet. Rory wondered what he’d emerge with. With some experimentation, the two of them had modified a variety of accessories so Fernald could use them. After a bit of practice, he’d become quite good at it. Now, he reappeared with a leather paddle. 

“On the bed,” he instructed. “On your knees.”

Rory obeyed, kneeling on the bed. Fernald pushed them forward so they were on all fours, and adjusted the position of their hips. 

They tensed in anticipation, and then the sting, as usual, lighter than they’d imagined it would be, as the paddle cracked against their ass. 

The first time, Rory didn’t make a sound. 

Fernald struck them again. That time, it was more difficult, but they still kept silent as the pleasant sting spread over their ass and thighs. 

The third blow was more forceful, and they couldn’t help crying out. Fernald kept going, and before long, Rory had lost count. They only knew that it _hurt_ , yet it was an enjoyable kind of hurt. Tears streamed from their eyes, and they gave a sob. They were still achingly hard, so desperate for any contact, but Fernald had assured that it was impossible in their current position. 

Then, a sudden reprieve. Or perhaps not so sudden. The passage of time seemed immaterial now. 

Fernald caught Rory under the chin and tipped their face up to look at him. A fleeting break in his hard expression. “Color?”

“Green,” whispered Rory. 

Fernald nodded. “And what do you say?”

“Thank you, sir.” 

Fernald trailed the paddle up the back of one thigh and down the other, but didn’t strike them again. “What did you learn today?”

“I have to be patient.”

“Why?”

“To…to be good. For you.”

“That’s better,” said Fernald, setting aside the paddle. “I think you’ve almost redeemed yourself.” 

Rory felt the mattress shift at the addition of Fernald’s weight. They didn’t dare glance backward to see what he was planning now—the _almost_ hadn’t been lost on them. 

Fernald lightly caressed their skin everywhere the paddle had made contact, a gentle, soothing touch, followed by kisses. Another kiss at the base of their spine, and Rory gave a whimper as Fernald’s tongue darted lower, and _fuck_ , he was licking their asshole.

“Please—ohmyGod—please, sir—please let me—” They couldn’t speak anymore, could only cry out incoherently as Fernald tongue-fucked their ass. They needed to come, _needed_ to, right now, couldn’t handle any more. 

Fernald wrapped his arms around their legs, holding them in place so they couldn’t move forward, couldn’t even thrust pathetically against the bed. Rory could only squirm helplessly and let Fernald do as he pleased with them. They knew they wouldn’t really be able to come without any stimulation of their cock, but God, they felt so close, like they barely needed anything to push them over the edge. It wouldn’t take much, but Fernald wouldn’t allow it, only kept tormenting them.

Fernald stopped. “Do you understand what happens when you’re disobedient?” he asked. His breath was hot against Rory’s skin, and they shuddered. “Do you understand that you only come with my permission?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think you’ve learned patience now?” asked Fernald. “Or do I need to make you wait longer?”

Rory bit back another whimper. “Whatever you think is best, sir.”

Apparently this was the right answer, since Fernald released his hold on them. 

“Turn over.”

Rory quickly complied, wincing at the soreness of their ass as they sank down onto the bed. 

Fernald lowered his head and took their cock into his mouth, sucking, tracing his tongue over the head. Oversensitive from all the teasing and anticipation, Rory came almost immediately, with an intensity that left their mind blank for a moment. 

By the time they were aware of their surroundings again, they found themselves in Fernald’s arms as he gently rubbed their back. Rory held onto him tightly, resting their face against his chest to feel the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. 

“I love you so much,” whispered Fernald. “So much, honey, you know that?”

“I know,” murmured Rory, and they did. “I love you, too.”

After a moment, Fernald added, “You do need a shower now, though.”

“That’s your fault,” Rory said, giving him a look of mock reproach as they got to their feet.

“You’re welcome.”

Rory paused in the doorway to the adjoining bathroom. “Want to join me?”

Fernald grinned. “I think I will.”


End file.
